


Double Trouble

by JennaSinclair



Series: Sharing the Sunlight (STS) [7]
Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-07
Updated: 2017-09-07
Packaged: 2018-12-25 03:24:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12027075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JennaSinclair/pseuds/JennaSinclair
Summary: Kirk decides it's time for double beds on the Enterprise.  Humor.





	Double Trouble

**Author's Note:**

> "Double Trouble" is the seventh entry in my Sharing the Sunlight series. Each work was written so that a reader could catch up with what is going on if they haven’t read the previous stories, but of course you’ll get a bit more if you read the series in order. I use the name Jenna Sinclair for this K/S series. I use Jenna Hilary Sinclair for all other fanfiction and my professional work.
> 
> Here's the series in chronological order:
> 
> 1\. Sharing the Sunlight (novel)  
> 2\. Reflections on a Lunar Landscape  
> 3\. Pursuing Hyacinths (novella)  
> 4\. Heart’s Delight (novella)  
> 5\. Primal Scream  
> 6\. Parallel Courses  
> 7\. Double Trouble  
> 8\. Son of Sarek (novella)  
> 9\. Promises to Keep (novel)  
> 10\. Jagged Edges  
> 11\. Manna  
> 12\. Journey’s End  
> 13\. One Night  
> 14\. In the Shade (novel)
> 
> All stories and novels in the Sharing the Sunlight series will be posted to Archive of Our Own.

The bridge was quiet. The peacefulness of competent people immersed in jobs they loved gently rebounded from one curved wall to the other.

Captain Kirk leaned back in the command chair, legs crossed, concentrating on the comp slate in his lap. On routine patrols within Federation space he frequently scanned reports while on bridge duty. Now he examined Engineer Scott's modification to the air venting system in the upper engineering hull. Kirk absently scratched one cheek, then wrote his initials next to Scotty's with bold strokes.

In front of Kirk, Lieutenant Audrey Dillow pressed a button that would begin a test sequence on the navigation board. Ensign Chekov was cross-training with Security today, and Dillow had felt a little thrill when she received the call to man the bridge in his place. Even during a quiet shift when nothing much was happening, it was exciting just being here, and she was determined to make the most of the opportunity. Dillow pushed one lock of white-blonde hair behind her shoulder and hoped the captain was noticing her diligence.

On the upper level of the bridge, Commander Spock and Ensign Hunyady conferred in low tones. Uhura, tapping a fingernail against one of her dials, could just overhear the words "field density interphase" and "fluctuating shell outputs.” She hummed a fragment of song, content with a quiet morning on the bridge.

The intercom on the arm of the captain's chair squawked.

The captain punched a button. "Kirk here."

"Scott here, Captain. I've just been reading over the status sheet, and I've come across something mighty peculiar."

Kirk frowned down at the grid. "What's that, Scotty?"

"Well, what's this business about the four double beds that the quartermaster has on his purchase list for Petrie II? Have you seen it? It's got to be a mistake."

Kirk cleared his throat, and his spine straightened. "No Mistake, Mister Scott. I've approved that with Lieutenant LeCoeur. I'm authorizing him to purchase the... items on Petrie, and install them for myself and our three most senior officers. That includes you."

"I know that, sir," came the disembodied voice. "But what am I wantin' with a double bed? I don't need it, sir."

Sulu looked over at Dillow, eyes wide. This was the first he'd heard about anybody getting bigger beds.

Kirk hunched over the intercom. His tone was noticeably quieter. "Mister Scott, consider it a... reward. For jobs well done."

"Sir!” Outrage squeaked from the grid, stabbed all across the bridge so that every ear could hear. "I doona need a reward to perform my duties. And I have nae need for a bigger bed. I've been sleeping in a single bunk on starfleet vessels for twenty-two years now. It wouldn't be right."

Kirk glanced up and quickly surveyed the bridge crew. Every back was turned towards him; Lieutenant Sulu's head was bent studiously to his board, while Lieutenant Dillow seemed engrossed in the view of the starfield. Hunyady was reading from a display over the science station.

Kirk was not deceived. He'd been a junior officer once too.

"Mister Scott....” He could keep the exasperation out of his voice. Of course he could. "I imagine that you'll get used to it without too much trouble. Most officers wouldn't be objecting to this."

Out of the corner of his eye, Kirk noticed Sulu abruptly shift position in his seat.

"'Tis not that I'm objecting, sir. It's just that, well, there are so many things the ship needs, like that new sensor I tool you aboot. I just wouldn't feel right with a brand new bed, knowing the budget went to my comfort and nae to the ship."

Kirk stared down at the grid. Only Mister Scott could utter such words with complete and utter sincerity.

"Mister Scott, I believe that we should continue this discussion at a later, more appropriate time."

A pause. "Aye, sir."

"Kirk out."

Kirk punched the intercom button with more pressure than he'd intended. He carefully folded his hands in his lap and stared straight ahead.

"Steady as she goes, helmsman."

"Aye-aye, sir."

Kirk refrained from glancing in his first officer's direction.

 

 

A starship is a microcosm of society. It has its artificially produced day and night-time cycles. It has beings who eagerly embrace adventure in space, and those who use starship service as simply a means to another end. It has its cynics, its idealists, its leaders, and its followers.

It also has gossips. News travels fast.

Spock's slanted brows contracted as he stared at the food processing unit in the deck five rec room. It had been thirty-two point five seconds since he had punched in his order for dinner. The expected processing time for units on the _Enterprise_ was eight point five to twenty-two seconds, plus or minus one point five seconds. This mechanism was malfunctioning.

There was a beep, and the tiny door slid open. Forty-five seconds, considerably past acceptable limits. He must speak to maintenance chief Fraser about this.

Spock reached in to retrieve his dinner. The plate was as he expected it to be, but he looked at the cup of Catallan small berry tea in dismay. Not only was the container only half full, but the tea was tepid. He preferred his liquids steaming hot, to help counteract the environmental conditions on the ship.

Spock placed the cup on the table behind him, then punched in the code for the tea again. He glanced around the sparsely populated room, suddenly understanding why there were so few people there. His gaze moved from the captain and Doctor McCoy, to the newlyweds Ensign Hunyady and Lieutenant Dawson, who were smiling at one another, to the group of three women seated at the table next to the young couple. Although the junior officers were speaking softly, in the absence of the usual conversational chatter Vulcan hearing could not help but catch every word.

"I tell you it's true. Tech Walters said so. Six double beds. And Argellian gauze sheets too. Randy LeCoeur's supposed to buy it all when we stop off at Petrie II tomorrow.” Technician first class Hwang sounded indignant.

Ensign Cloutier from Security propped her elbows on the table. "Oh, what I wouldn't give for a little room to stretch out in. I don't suppose it's possible any junior officers will be getting them?

"Dream on, Chantelle. Wally said senior officers only."

Spock recognized Ensign O'Shaughnessey's distinctive lilting accent. "I can just imagine what the captain will be using his for. I wish...."

"Forget it. He never even looks at a woman in the crew. Just every woman who's not in it.” Hwang was positive.

A sigh. "Yeah. I know. But I bet he's just fantastic in bed.” She leaned forward and her voice lowered even further. Spock's ever reliable hearing, and perhaps his lip-reading ability as well, still caught every word. "Have you seen the way he fills out his pants? Half the time it looks like... you know. Anyway, I sure wouldn't mind him hanging his pajamas on my bedpost every night. What do you think he would do if...."

Hastily, Spock diverted his attention to the servo slot, which was still stubbornly closed. A portion of his mind registered how illogical O'Shaughnessey's last comment had been, since crew quarters did not come equipped with bedposts. Another part of his brain insisted on conjuring up a picture of Kirk hanging his pajamas on such as article. Pajama tops or pajama bottoms? Bottoms, definitely.

His thoughts were interrupted by a beep from the servo, and somewhat gratefully Spock took his steaming cup of tea and his dinner to the table where Kirk and McCoy sat. Wisely, he decided not to mention the overheard conversation to his captain. Ever.

Kirk nodded as his first officer sat down next to him, but McCoy just continued with what he had been saying. "...I think it's long overdue. And it's about time that 'fleet made some changes, too.” He spread his hands expansively. "Getting nice, big beds is a great idea."

Uneasily, Kirk glanced at where Dawson and Hunyady sat just two tables away. "Okay, Bones, I hear you, you don't have to shout."

"I'm not shouting," McCoy said in a considerably softer tone. "But think about this. Do you know how many injuries I've had to treat for people falling out of bed?"

Kirk shook his head. Spock ate a forkful of greens.

"Well, I looked it up this afternoon. Just in the last year alone, seventeen bed-related injuries!"

Spock swallowed. This was new information. "And you assume that a wider bed would have forestalled such accidents?"

"You're darn tooting I do. You know our narrow little bunks are just one meter wide. When...."

Spock interrupted him. ".97 meters, Doctor."

"Okay. .97 meters. Anyway, when you get rolling around in bed and involved in some pretty heavy activity, you're not likely to be paying attention to how close to the edge....” McCoy suddenly realized to whom he was talking. "Ahhh, I guess you wouldn't know.” His attention shifted to Kirk. "But you would, Jim. I bet you've fallen out of your bunk a time or two."

Kirk gave him a tight-lipped glare. "Maybe."

McCoy waved a hand in the air. "Whatever.” He picked up his fork, then suddenly chuckled. "What a great way to safeguard the health of the captain, not to mention the chief medical officer. At least I shouldn't have to worry about treating you in the middle of the night for, shall we say, a loss of balance at a critical time."

"Bones...."

"Okay, okay. It's just that I wish we could get bigger bunks for every crewman and woman on board. Even six inches would help. It's about time Starfleet provided for the fact that there's going to be sexual activity on board a starship.” He looked pointedly at Spock. "Present company excluded, of course."

An eyebrow arched. "Why, thank you, Doctor McCoy."

The CMO turned back to Kirk. "And another thing about these beds...."

Only an extremely observant individual would have detected the additional tension in the captain's shoulders.

Spock interrupted McCoy. "I believe that the food processing unit in this room is malfunctioning. It is apparent that word of the malfunction has already spread among most of the crew. Did either of you notice a problem with your food? Doctor McCoy, your cornbread does not appear to be its usual consistency."

McCoy peered down at his plate. "Well, now that you mention it...."

Kirk did not throw his first officer a grateful look. He didn't have to.

 

 

The next day, Kirk spent forty-two minutes in deep conversation with Lieutenant Commander Scott. They did not speak of technical matters.

Two hours before shift change, as the _Enterprise_ entered stately orbit about Petrie II, the captain on the bridge received a call from the transporter room. Did the captain really only want four beds, the newly-appointed quartermaster queried. Wouldn't eight beds be a more reasonable number? Buying in bulk could be economical.

At end of shift, the food processor on deck five gave Captain Kirk a cup of hot chocolate when he had definitely punched in the code for coffee: hot, black, extra strong. He dumped the chocolate down the recycling unit, then stalked to maintenance chief Fraser's office before joining his first officer in the gym for their weekly game of handball.

Fraser assured Kirk that the food processor would be fixed immediately.

Fraser wanted to know whether he was one of the ten senior officers who would receive a new double bed.

Fraser hoped that he would have his choice of vibro-massage or Rigellian sensosurround in the accompanying mattress component.

Kirk fled to the gym.

 

 

"If one... oomph," Kirk smacked the ball that ricocheted off the wall, "more person says another word...," he took two quick steps to the left to position himself for Spock's return, "... about those damn beds.... Shit!"

Spock bent to pick up the ball that Kirk had lunged for and missed. He absently pulled up the waistband of his gym shorts.

"It is most fascinating to observe how information has been distorted as it spreads throughout the ship."

Kirk snorted. "Fascinating my left ball? I'm sick of it. Only Scotty could make such a fuss over a bigger bed. And I'm wondering if LeCoeur can handle the responsibilities of a quartermaster. How hard is it to read straight from a requisition form? Maybe he's too young."

"Indeed. I have observed that the lieutenant is at times overly conscientious in the performance of his duties. However, I have confidence that he will soon mature in his new position."

"He'd better. How could such a simple requisition get so out of hand?” Kirk nodded to indicate he was ready for the serve.

But Spock continued to bounce the ball against the floor. "You are well aware how. Anything even slightly related to sexual matters is of intense interest to humans. Especially young humans, of whom there are many serving on this ship."

Kirk took a moment to wipe the sweat off his brow with the hem of his shirt. Spock, with nary a hair out of place despite their vigorous game, had no such need. "And it's even worse," Kirk said, blinking through his perspiration, "because every junior officer and tech thinks that their commanding officers are legitimate subjects for gossip."

Spock took three quick steps towards his captain. "It is most distressing that the requisition has become a matter of public comment. I regret that."

Kirk quirked a resigned grin. "Me too.” He took a deep breath. "But it'll be worth it."

Spock favored him with one of the small smiles that only reached his eyes. "Let us hope so."

"Hope, Mister Spock?" Kirk quipped. "I thought that was illogical."

Spock drew back, mock-affronted. But before he could say anything more, the door to the handball court opened and Lieutenant Turwell, head of Recreation Services, poked her head inside.

"Captain, call for you on the intercom. Ship to shore."

Turwell retreated. Kirk rolled his eyes.

He exited the court and walked across the busy gym to the only intercom unit. Weight equipment was clustered about it; his footsteps slowed. Kirk counted six, seven, eight crewmen laboring as they built their strength. He nodded as he walked past Ensign Hunyady.

"Kirk here."

"Lieutenant LeCoeur, Captain," came the loud voice of the quartermaster. Uhura must have turned up the gain to make sure the channel from Petrie II to the ship was clear.

Kirk kept his gaze on the wall unit. "Yes, Lieutenant?"

"Sir, I've located the five beds, but there's a great buy here on some mattress components. I wondered if you might want me to purchase them too."

So, his eager-to-please quartermaster had heard that rumor too. Kirk gritted his teeth. "No, Lieutenant, that won't be necessary.” He enunciated every syllable. "I already upped the order to five, that's enough. Just five, ordinary, double-sized beds that can be installed in quarters. With ordinary sheets and pillows. And that's it. Do I make myself clear?"

There was a snort of laughter from where Ensign Grenatier was laboring under a sim-grav machine set for three hundred pounds. It was quickly muffled.

"Yes, sir. I'll take care of it. LeCoeur out."

Kirk punched the button and turned to walk back to his handball game. He... really... needed... it. Spock was standing in the doorway, watching and waiting for him.

The intercom whistled again, distinctively calling for the captain with its sliding tone.

Of course.

"Kirk here."

"Captain, McCoy here. I've been thinking. I hope you made sure to tell Lieutenant LeCoeur to get extra firm mattresses. You know this Starfleet issue stuff we've been sleeping on isn't much good for your back. Extra firm is the only way to go."

Why wasn't he in the least surprised to hear it?

"Why of course, Doctor McCoy. Is there anything else you'd like to add?"

"Jim? Uh, no. That's it."

"Fine. Tell Uhura. Ask her to tell LeCoeur. Kirk out.” It was as much as he could force out.

But he had never played handball better. He beat the hell out of Spock, five games to zip.

 

 

The next day, the _Enterprise_ 's perceptive bridge crew accurately gauged their captain's mood. The bridge immediately became a model of efficiency. Never had hailing frequencies been so briskly opened, courses so steadily held, nor data so efficiently computed. Spines were so straight they could have snapped. Conversation was strictly business.

Before three hours had passed, Kirk was heartily sick of it. Every exaggerated response to one of his commands emphasized his suspicion that the crew knew exactly why he was in such a bad mood. Was there anybody on board this vessel who wasn't speculating over the purchase of beds?

When shift ended, responsibilities did not. Therefore, it was late before he managed to achieve the sanctuary of his cabin.

The door swished shut behind him, and Kirk allowed himself the luxury of leaning against it. He sighed.

There was a rustle of movement from the partially hidden bedroom area.

Kirk smiled.

He advanced two predatory steps, his lips soundlessly forming the name of his lover, his lover who had surely abandoned writing his journal article so that together they could soothe away the aggravations of the day with some extra-curricular activity.... In one of their new beds....

...When Yeoman Smith came 'round the corner of the grill, her arms filled with folded bedsheets. Kirk's hands quickly fell from where they had been working on the catch to his pants.

"What the hell?" he roared, thoroughly embarrassed, and covering it up in best masculine fashion.

Mousy Yeoman Smith cringed before his onslaught. "I'm... I'm sorry, sir. It's just that I've been so busy. Maintenance didn't have the bed installed when I stopped by earlier, so I waited to make it up, and then I got involved in those quarterly reports, but since you weren't here I didn't think you'd mind, and you couldn't sleep on a bare mattress, sir!"

Not her fault, Kirk recited to himself, closing his eyes. Just doing her duty. Conscientious. Loyal. Extremely annoying.

The entire crew was not involved in a conspiracy to embarrass him.

He opened his eyes and took a deep breath. "All right, Yeoman. Dismissed."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

She scuttled past him on the way to the door. He began to relax.

The door opened. "Hope you enjoy the new bed, sir," Smith offered brightly, then was gone.

For a long moment, a very long moment, Kirk stared at the door. Then he rotated on his heel, slowly, until he could just see the one end of the new bed through the doorway to his sleeping area. He turned and stared at the door to the bathroom, the one that led to the first officer's quarters.

Spock had excused himself right after their hasty dinner together, saying that he would spend the evening working on the paper for the Interstellar Journal of Dimensional Physics. Spock had probably been hip deep in some higher mathematical heaven for hours now. Well, fine. He'd had those hours. Now it was the captain's turn.

Spock was seated at his desk, saying something mathematically incomprehensible to his computer when Kirk emerged from the connecting door.

Kirk marched up to the desk. "These," he said between thinned lips, "had better be the best fucking beds the galaxy has ever seen."

He turned and stomped off to the bedroom area, stripping off his shirt as he did so in one fierce motion. "I'm going to sleep," he announced. "Are you going to keep working on that paper?"

Spock cast one lingering look at the computer screen, then activated the storage mode that consigned his half-written article to memory for the night. He was no fool.

"No," Spock said. "I also wish to retire."

They were soon lying side by side in the dim light from the firepot. Usually they were pressed close as they balanced on the narrow mattress, but now there was ample, if somewhat disquieting, space between their two bodies. This was not how Spock had envisioned spending their first night in his new bed together. Spock was shocked at how big the bed felt.

Kirk shifted against the mattress. "Extra firm, my ass," he muttered. "This feels like a rock I'm sleeping on."

Patience, Spock counseled himself. "I am sure you will adjust to it soon."

A fist hit the mattress with a thump. "Maybe."

"It is considerably better than falling out of bed and injuring ourselves, as Doctor McCoy said."

"Yeah," said Kirk, flinging his forearm over his eyes. "I can just see it on the sickbay report now.” His fingers sketched in the air. "'Captain and first officer incapacitated by falling out of bed during wild moment of passion.' Bones would have a field day."

"But that will not happen now," Spock reassured.

"No," Kirk said, shifting restlessly, "all that's happened is that the entire crew is speculating about my sex life."

Spock kept his silence. He would not stoop to false reassurances. After all, he had overheard that intriguing conversation about bedposts....

He could hear the rasping in and out of Jim's harsh breathing. Spock wondered what he could do to ease the emotional turmoil expressed in the stiffened body next to his. They were so far apart, physically. Yet Jim was a very tactile person. Despite Jim's apparent current disinterest in sexual activity, perhaps physical contact of some sort would provide a modicum of comfort....

Spock reached for his bedmate as he turned on his side, just as Kirk was turning and reaching for him. Their arms clashed, a finger scraped against his cheek, Kirk muttered, "Damnit, come over here!" and Spock was pulled roughly into cool arms. He settled his cheek against a shoulder, and wrapped one arm around the smooth chest. Then he waited.

Jim's hand began to pat his back. Or perhaps 'pound' would be a more accurate description. All the inner frustration that Kirk was feeling went into each of the a-little-too-firm-for-comfort strokes which swept down Spock's back from his shoulder to his waist. There was absolutely nothing sexual about the motion, and certainly nothing comforting. And yet, it was quite obvious that Spock was serving a purpose here, and he resolved to remain still, and allow his body to provide whatever it was that Jim needed at this time.

Gradually the strokes calmed, coming more slowly, and becoming more gentle. Kirk's fingers began to deviate from their chosen path, meandering of to one side to scratch a little, or to lightly trace a circle just above the small of Spock's back. The stiffness in the muscular body eased, and his breathing was no longer so harsh. Spock began to relax into the embrace, settling his head more firmly in the hollow of the supporting shoulder, allowing himself to experience the sensuous pleasure of his lover's skin against his own.

"I'm over-reacting, aren't I?" Kirk whispered. "Who cares what half the crew is saying? What's important is that you haven't been involved."

"You exaggerate. The crew of the _Enterprise_ are professional, mature people who have better things to do with their time than--."

"All right. A few of the crew. Like O'Shaughnessey in the mess."

Spock gripped the curve of a muscled arm. "You heard....”"

Kirk shook his head against the pillow. "I might not have Vulcan ears, but I do hear things."

Spock drew in a deep breath. "Your reaction is understandable. Your privacy has been violated. But I am also aware that some of your disquiet comes from your belief that I am also disturbed by the unfortunate public nature of the purchase of the beds. Please believe me, Jim, I am not. I have been more worried about you. There is no need for you to be concerned for me."

There was a short silence. "All right. I won't. I know I'm being over-emotional. I've got to stop that.” He ruffled the dark silkiness of the head against his shoulder. "I don't want you to think I'm some uncontrolled human, after all."

Spock lifted his head from his resting place so that he could see the outline of his lover's face, faint in the dim light. "But you are an uncontrolled human. And I would not wish you to change. I like you this way."

That brought the expected chuckle. One of Kirk's hands traced the curves of his lover's mouth. "Just what I thought. You're smiling in the dark again."

Spock shook his head, gently, so as not to dislodge Kirk's touch. "I do not believe so, Jim."

"Right. Well...," Kirk stretched against the mattress, extending both arms to the edges of the bed. He surveyed the expanse of sheet. "This really is a nice big bed."

"Indeed it is. Approximately 1.45 meters in width, when we are accustomed to interacting on only .97 meters. And for it, I believe I owe my captain some gesture of gratitude."

Kirk quirked an eyebrow. "Oh, you do, do you?"

"Yes, sir," Spock murmured, and he pushed up into Kirk's enfolding arms to place a kiss upon his lover's lips. The kiss, meant to be support as well as distraction, turned in to something else when Kirk twined his fingers in the silky hair to keep Spock close. Their lips softened and play against one another, then Kirk teased his tongue out just a bit, licking along the thin upper lip, and Spock opened his mouth to invited his lover in.... And it was several minutes later before they spoke again.

"What do you want?" Kirk gasped. It seemed a superfluous question, after he had assertively plundered Spock's mouth, rolled atop the warm body to dominate by pressing and sliding seductively, worked his hand between them to grasp the evidence of his lover's desire in knowing fingers.

It was apparent to Spock what Jim wanted, and needed, and the exciting pressing of the strong body above him ignited an accommodating desire in him. He had always been attracted to Jim's strengths....

In mute answer Spock wrapped one leg around the powerful hips, and tilted his pelvis up in unmistakable invitation.

"All right," Kirk said breathlessly, reaching to open the nightstand drawer. "All right. Let's christen this bed the right way."

He knelt between Spock's spread legs and slathered his own rosy erection with the lubricating cream. Spock could see a smile dawning.

"At least," Kirk said as he helped Spock prop his legs over the captain's broad shoulders, "at least I'm the one the crew is wondering about. Nobody realizes that you're going to enjoy this bed as much as I am...."

 

 

Brian Dawson was just succumbing to a serious need for replenishing sleep when his bride of only three weeks propped herself up on her elbows, chin in hand. "Brian? I've just had a funny thought. Do you think it's possible that...” Hunyady's voice trailed off in uncertainty.

Dawson blinked. "What?” He could barely get the word out. Spending nights with Irina was wonderful, but eventually a man needed some rest.

Her head tilted as she thought. Long auburn hair brushed the curve of her shoulder. "You know how I've been spending a lot more time on the bridge lately?"

"Uh-huh."

"Well, I was just wondering....” Abruptly she turned over onto her back and waved a dismissing hand in the air. "Oh, it was silly. Nothing."

"You sure?”

She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "I'm sure, sweetheart. I have some wild ideas sometimes. You know, we really need to thank Captain Kirk for this nice, new double bed. It's ridiculous for couples to have to balance on those single bunks. I don't know how we managed for so long."

"I'll say.” He rolled over and gathered her into his arms, his hand coming round to possessively cup the fullness of one breast. "G'night, Rini."

"Good-night. Love you."

They were asleep in minutes, and Hunyady dreamed untroubled, peaceful dreams, not wild, speculative ones.

 

 

One deck up and thirty meters aft, another couple settled in for the night.

A whisper, accompanying a last lingering caress of a lush buttock. "Can you now conclude that our new sleeping platform is... I believe you called it 'the best fucking bed the galaxy has ever seen'."

A sleepy chuckle. "The very best. But only because you're in it.” A kiss. A rearranging of bodies for comfort. "Good-night, Spock. Sleep tight."

"Good-night, Jim."

Their arms were wrapped around each other. Spock's head rested against his captain's shoulder, Kirk's leg was inserted firmly between two bony knees.

They slept. And they took up .97 meters of space. Exactly.

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> "Double Trouble" first appeared in No Greater Love, published by Diversity Press, and reprinted in Setting Course: the Jenna Sinclair Collection, published by Kathleen Resch. Many thanks to the editors for editing help.)


End file.
